Cry Without Weeping
by GeishaCat
Summary: HOFC. A suspect attempts suicide, what really happened? How far will H go to help an FBI profiler who's insight may hit to close to home? M for a reason. Xver with Criminal Minds. CH 7 & 8 areUP. RR please!
1. Chapter 1: It Wasn't Your Fault

**Disclaimer:** I don't own CSI: Miami or any of its characters; I just borrow them occasionally. Any inaccuracies regarding profiling are my own fault.

**A/N:** Special thanks to my beta Morgaine for loving this story so far. Thank you Debbie, Susan, Cilica and Zhene for your support and encouragement; you gals rock! This is my first ever fanfic so please R & R!

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**Chapter 1:**

Horatio Caine had been spending a lot of time in hospitals lately. He had become a familiar site in the corridors; the sombre red-haired man in the dark suit who seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Now the normally immaculate suit was creased and his normally confident face-the-world-straight-on stance required the support of the wall behind him. His eyes burned from lack of sleep, clear blue shot with red. _What time was it? What day was it? He'd lost track after she'd been brought in._

Horatio grabbed an uncomfortable chair from the corner of the room and pulled it as close to the bed as he could, thinking there was probably a special level of hell for those who designed hospital furniture. He cradled her right hand in his, feeling the calluses that came from holding a gun on her palm and fingertips; noticing for the first time the line of faint scars running from wrist to elbow on her inner forearm. He felt a knot develop in his stomach, as his mind analyzed the information. _Shit! Everything was beginning to make sense._

Ross lay unconscious, her mahogany red hair leeching the colour from her face, leaving it as white as the pillow her head rested on. A person could be forgiven for thinking that Alexx had misplaced one of her "patients" in the hospital instead of the morgue; if it weren't for the sound of her breathing; she hadn't been when he'd found her.

He reached into his jacket pocket for a small plastic envelope and dumped the contents into his palm. A round silver pendant on a twenty-inch matching chain gleamed dully in the light. The pendant was a reproduction of an antique wax seal engraved with a torch-bearing cherub perched on a wave borne anchor. Inscribed around the edges were the words _L'espoire me reste dans l'orage_ – my hope remains even in the storm.

"Well that make two of us, doesn't it?" he whispered, placing the necklace into her palm and folding her fingers over it. Her pulse was steady underneath his thumb. "You hang in there sweetheart."

The sound of footsteps in the corridor made him turn. Calleigh Duquesne stood in the doorway, a duffle bag in her hand. "I swung by her house and packed a few things; collected her mail, fed her cats."

"Thank you Calleigh – I thought you didn't like cats."

Calleigh felt torn, he looked so lost – had been through more emotional upheaval in the past year than most people experienced in a lifetime; and she wanted to shield him from further pain. _But this whole martyr/saviour complex of his had to stop, and here was the wake up call. _

"Who'd you hear that big fat lie from? Was it Ryan? I love cats Horatio, had quite a few growing up." She gave him a dimmer version of her usual dazzling smile, opening the room's pathetic excuse for a closet and placing the bag inside, closing the door with a brisk motion. "In fact, I've appointed myself cat-sitter until further notice. The poor things are scared to death; it would be cruel to hand them over to Animal Control."

Calleigh crossed the room and placed her hand on Horatio's shoulder. "I won't lie to you and say that everything is going to be fine, but you're not responsible for what happened. Horatio, you've been here for forty eight hours. Go home and get some sleep. I'll call you if the lab needs you or anything changes here."

Horatio had learned early on that it never paid to mess with Calleigh Duquesne; she was a true steel magnolia. The look in her eyes told him that she was fully prepared to frog march him out the door if need be; there was an image that made him smile. "Yes Ma'am." His voice was strained, not the usual calm silky purr that Calleigh was used to, a clear sign that events had worn him down.

"So why are you still here?" Calleigh rolled her eyes heavenward seeking divine assistance. "Go. Home." The last statement punctuated with a thumb over her shoulder towards the door.

In the face of such determination, it was best to concede. Horatio left Calleigh to her vigil and walked to the parking lot. Climbing into the Hummer he headed for the lab, just to pick up his personal vehicle; after all, the Hummer didn't exactly fit in his condo's parking space, the black Focus sedan was another story.

Forgoing the A/C in favour of fresh air through the driver's side window, he drove home. Traffic was moderate and blessedly trouble free, meaning that he arrived home in half the usual time it took to commute; if you were gridlocked, at least the scenery outside the car window was spectacular. The Miami Chamber of Commerce missed an opportunity by omitting that little factoid from their brochure.

Horatio made the trip up to his condo on auto pilot. If his neighbours thought it unusual that A) he was coming home at noon and B) wearing his sunglasses indoors and the same suit he had on two days ago, they didn't say so. The last thing he remembered doing after unlocking the door was plugging his cell phone into the charger before collapsing on his living room sofa and finally surrendering to unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2: No Such Thing As Normal

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything that I shouldn't etc.

**A/N:** Come on people I live for feedback! Please R & R (pretty please g ). Thanks again to Morgaine and the usual suspects. Story title is taken from **_Running to Stand Still_** by U2 off **The Joshua Tree**.

**Chapter 2**

"Hey Frank, have you seen H?" Eric peered over the top of Tripp's cubicle, puzzlement written large all over his face. "He's not answering his cell."

Tripp looked up from his computer screen, grateful for the interruption. He had a hate-despise relationship with anything involving the use of a computer keyboard; one of these days he might take a typing course, just to get his colleagues to stop bitching about his hunting-and-pecking. "You haven't heard?"

"Heard about what?" Eric frowned, leaning his forearms on the partition.

Tripp hit the save button and tossed his empty coffee cup towards the wastebasket, and missed; so much for a career with the Miami Heat. "The suicide – well, attempted suicide; the suspect's in the psycho ward having his head shrunk as we speak.

"Jason Andrews, the college kid, the prime suspect in our serial rape case?" Eric raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

Tripp nodded. "He called Ross last night; wanted to talk, or so he said. She heads down to the lockup and finds out the kid slashed his wrists with a razor blade; somebody dropped the ball regarding the body search. When Horatio and I got there they were taking him to the hospital." He paused, looking a little queasy. "Ross was standing in the hallway with blood all over her. She seemed to be in shock, so Horatio tried to bring her out of it; you know how he is with victims."

"Yeah." Eric nodded in understanding. Horatio Caine's compassion for victims of violence was well known within the MDPD; calm and understanding, a shoulder to lean on. Eric had lost count of the number of times he'd heard the older man say to a traumatized individual _I'll take care of this, let me deal with this. _"Is she okay?"

"If your barometer of okay is shoving a six foot tall man into a wall while telling him to say the fuck away from her, she's just peachy. She lit out of there like a bat out of hell and no one's seen or talked to her since." There was a hard edge to Tripp's voice, something that went beyond his usual no-bullshit tone.

Eric dropped into a vacant chair with a thud. The idea that anyone could physically assault Horatio, let alone someone who was a federal agent and a part of their team, without ending up in handcuffs was beyond the pale of his experience. "I know you're not fond of the FBI Frank – hell they aren't my favourite people either, but she was probably pissed off at Andrews." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "How did H handle it?"

Tripp shook his head. "Like he'd been hit by a truck; one moment he's trying to help her, the next she's got him pinned to the wall. Anybody else would have taken her down and restrained her, but he just stood there and told everyone to back off and let her go."

"Are you saying that he made a bad decision Frank?" Eric was aware that Horatio and Tripp's working relationship had had some rough spots in the past. The young CSI's own relationship with the detective wasn't without incident either, but Eric had never heard Tripp talk like this before. "What's really on your mind?"

_Good question_. Tripp sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. Eric right on the money when he said that the FBI weren't Tripp's favourite people – but they were on the same side, so he swallowed his pride and tolerated their presence whenever circumstances dictated. It wasn't that Special Agent Rosslyn Marlowe was a pain in the ass; she was a damn good cop, and didn't shove her federal status in your face every five seconds. But there was something unsettling about her. It wasn't her looks either, although he'd have to be dead not to notice a six foot green eyed redhead with curves in all the right places; but his wife's fidelity test a few years ago made him a strictly look-but-don't-touch kind of guy. "Delko, that woman that scares me, every time I see her the hair stands up on the back of my neck."

Eric sighed; he'd heard this refrain before from several people. Ross was intense, sure. She gave Horatio stiff competition in the subtle intimidation department; and maybe she did give off a spooky vibe because of her unique talents, but she did her job and Horatio respected her for it. That kind of endorsement went a long way in Eric's book. He said in light voice "Ross is a profiler Frank. I think giving people the creeps is part of basic training with the Behavioural Analysis Unit; right up there with 'Dark Suits and Ray Bans 101: How to Intimidate Without Breaking A Sweat'."

Tripp wasn't laughing; in fact he was pissed off. Eric could almost see the steam coming out of his ears. "That's right smart guy, laugh it off. I did a little background on Agent Marlowe when she first got here; she's the one the BAU sends out when there's a really sick bastard on the loose, real _Silence of the Lambs_ stuff. Rape, murder, torture, abuse; this gal swims in a mental cesspool and she's been doing it for six years. Nobody can deal with that kind of horror day after day and not be affected."

"I wouldn't call shoving H against a wall being unaffected. I'd call it understandable; inappropriate but understandable." Eric gave the older man a level gaze, he had an inkling of where Tripp's attitude was coming from and he didn't like it. "It's because she's an empath isn't it? That's where all this is coming from – you think she's a government sanctioned mental case with a gun and a badge? I never figured you for being prejudiced."

Tripp felt a flush burn over his skin. _Okay, maybe he was just the tiniest bit prejudiced_. "I voice a concern about a colleague and you call me prejudiced? Thanks Delko. Thanks a lot." The last phrase dripped with sarcasm.

"That wasn't what I meant and you know it!" Eric was starting to get angry, at himself, at Tripp, at Ross, even at Horatio whose unexplained absence had triggered this whole conversation in the first place. "You haven't answered my original question; have you seen H?"

Tripp let his head fall back against the cubicle wall. He suddenly felt very tired. "The last I saw of him, he was heading back to the lab after processing the crime scene. Ask Calleigh, if anybody knows where he is, she does. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to finish a report on the whole Andrews thing." Tripp spun his desk chair back towards his computer, a clear conversation ender.

Eric knew when to take a hint. Maybe Calleigh could tell him what was going on. Something was definitely up when two key members of the team disappeared within hours of each other.

Eric dialled Calleigh's cell and got bumped to voicemail; this day just kept getting better and better. "Hey Cal, its Eric. I heard about what happened with Andrews. H isn't picking up and I'm starting to get worried. Call my cell when you get this okay? Later." He snapped his phone closed and stared at it, as if sheer willpower would make her return his call immediately; _how stupid was that?_

"Damn it H, where are you?" He muttered slamming the door of the Hummer with more force than necessary. Manoeuvring the vehicle out of the parking lot, Eric headed towards the freeway; there was a DB in the Everglades State Park with his name on it, processing a scene while looking out for alligators tended to re-order a guy's priorities.

For some crazy reason Heaven's angels resembled Calleigh Duquesne, even spoke with the same southern drawl; Ross would have laughed, except it felt like her head would fall off of her neck if she even contemplated laughter.

"How are you feeling?" Calleigh glanced up from her magazine, a perky grin on her face, blonde ponytail bouncing in a sympathetic movement.

Ross propped herself up on a pillow with great deliberation; headache receding to a dull roar – she felt wrecked and probably looked worse. "Think of the most excruciating pain and multiply by two hundred. That's mild compared to this."

Calleigh winced in sympathy, reaching for the glass of water located on the bedside table. "That bad huh?" She handed the glass to Ross, watching her to make sure she drank the entire thing. "You've been out of it for a day and a half, if the doctor gives you the thumbs up you can probably go home later today or early tomorrow. I brought some stuff from your house; your cats are fine by the way, I've been keeping an eye on them."

Ross gave her a weak smile closing her eyes against the light and letting her head fall back against the pillow, basking in the waves of compassion and concern radiating from the other woman. "Thanks Calleigh. I owe you big time." Talking was an effort, hell just thinking was an effort. She pushed her bangs out of her eyes, startled when the pendant fell into her line of vision; swinging from its chain like a pendulum. Being very careful to keep her voice level she murmured "Please tell me you were the one who put this in my hand."

Calleigh's expression sobered. She shook her head. "Horatio found you unconscious in your house covered in blood. He's been right here for two days straight. I finally sent him home a little while ago."

Ross brushed her bangs from her eyes as hazy vignettes played in her mind. "Calleigh, I think I'm going to owe you another favour when this is all over."


	3. Chapter 3: Roadmap Out of Hell

**Disclaimer:** Don't own anything I shouldn't so please don't sue.

**A/N:** Thank you to Lady of Chaos and Tragedy, ChristineCaine and everyone else who has been kind enough to R & R. Please send constructive feedback; I thrive on it! Thank you to Morgaine for being such a great beta.

**Warning:** Portrayals of attempted suicide and allusion to self-injury. No smut yet; but I can be persuaded, R & R! If this isn't your thing; read no further – if it is then enjoy!

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**Chapter 3**

_**Forty Eight Hours Earlier**_

Pain ripped through her head; a white hot wave burning everything in its path; _Horatio, what a surprise – if angst was electricity the lab wouldn't need a backup generator during hurricane season_. Ross raked her fingers through her hair; pins striking the glass-topped desk in a metallic cascade, destroying the casual twist she'd created that morning.

Drumming her fingers on the arms of her desk chair, Ross contemplated the ceiling, then the pointed toes of her black leather ankle boots. She glanced at the computer screen in front of her; case notes half finished. _Something wasn't adding up; she had the feeling that she was missing an entire piece of the crime._

Ross glanced at her watch; she was overdue for a caffeine fix. _Then you can figure out what's bugging Horatio._ Stretching her arms over her head, Ross came out from behind her desk; making sure that the sleeves of her plum coloured button down shirt were rolled down and the cuffs buttoned securely. She shrugged into her suit jacket as she walked down the corridor; absently adjusting her collar and identification.

If anybody asked, Ross told them that she worked out of the crime lab in order to be close to the evidence. _What a lie_; her decision had as much to do with geographical proximity to Horatio Caine as a desire to monitor investigative developments as they occurred. What could she say? The man fascinated her, and it had been a long time since she'd been fascinated by anything other than the development of an UNSUB profile. _Dangerous thoughts Marlowe … just find out what the hell is bothering him and get back to work. _

The break room was empty when she got there; making a bee line for the coffee machine, Ross poured a cup and leaned against the counter. Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew a bottle of vicodin; dry swallowing three tablets and grimacing at the bitterness of both the medication and the coffee. The headaches were getting worse; more pain meant more pills – more pills meant running the risk of being too high to do her job. _Of course there's always the alternative … addiction is addiction whichever way you slice it._

The pain in her head had receded to a dull buzz when she found Horatio sitting alone at his desk; reading reports. He looked up, pinning her with his sapphire gaze. "May I you a personal question?"

"That depends." Ross leaned against the doorframe, arms folded across her chest. "May I come in?"

"When the door is open you're always welcome." Horatio took note of the assessing gaze she gave him with her cat like eyes; _what did she see? _She blinked and the look was gone, replaced by curiosity as she perched on a corner of the desk; not an invasion of personal space, but he would have felt better with the desk between them. The devil inside his head whispered - _Now _w_hy is that; because you don't trust her – or yourself? _

"Hello; earth to Horatio. What did you want to ask me?" Ross refrained from waving a hand in front of his face; she was pushing the envelope already by not sitting in the empty chair in front of his desk. His expression hadn't changed; still the bashful altar boy grin, but uncertainty was rolling off of him in waves that were quickly controlled and suppressed. She summoned up her best harmless smile and waited.

Horatio gave her a level gaze. In a quiet voice he asked "Are you okay? Calleigh says you've been having headaches. If you need to take a break, just let me know."_ Was he seeing things or did her bone structure suddenly become more prominent; a flinch quickly concealed?_

"This from the man who doesn't know the meaning of the word." Ross muttered derisively under her breath. Horatio flinched at the venom in her tone and she took a deep breath before continuing. "That was uncalled for; I appreciate your concern, believe me; but I've never told you how to do your job, so please don't tell me how to do mine." _Why doesn't the floor ever open up and swallow you when you need it to? _

_Real smooth Caine, make her defensive._ "That was never my intention. I'm sorry if I offended you; I just want you to know that you're part of the team and around here that means occasional nosiness from the Boss." Horatio watched her smile in spite of herself; "You should smile more often, it suits you."

_Did he just flirt with you?_ It took a few minutes for Horatio's words to sink in; she studied his face, he was staring at the notepad on the desk like it contained the secrets of the universe and he was blushing. _Yeah, he can't believe his ears either._

The ringing of her cell phone shattered the silence; Ross glanced at the call display as she answered. "What's up Frank?"

"Andrews wants to talk to you; right now, without a lawyer." As always, Tripp came right to the point. "Wouldn't say what about though."

"Where's he at?" Ross turned away slightly, less out of politeness than a desire to give them both time to regroup. She stole occasional glances at Horatio; he'd switched into cop mode, as if the last few minutes had never happened.

"In lockup; transfers to County in the morning." Tripp sounded tired. "How soon can you get here?"

"I'll be there in ten." Ross hung up and turned back to meet Horatio's inquiring expression. "Andrews wants to talk, minus his lawyer; gotta skate before he changes his mind."

Horatio nodded; the job came before everything else. "Keep me posted; and Ross?"

She paused halfway out the door; looking back over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow. "Yes?"

"To be continued." He watched her leave; restraining the impulse to go after her - _and do_ _what?_ Before he could complete the thought his cell phone rang – dispatch with a call out; s_aved by the bel1_.

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The kid looked harmless; the all-American college boy, suspected of raping, and torturing five women in one year. Andrews was a chemistry major who had the brilliant idea of improving the Chinese water torture, with sulphuric acid. _A mind is a terrible thing to waste_. Standing outside the holding cell Ross felt glad that protocol demanded she leave her weapons at the guards' station and that two guards were standing less then ten feet away; even shielding as strongly as she was, Ross was aware of a desire to kill to the bastard and save the taxpayers the cost of a trial.

She had seen Kayla Chambers, the most recent victim that morning; a formerly pretty twenty year old looking forward to years of plastic surgery. Kayla was tough; all of Andrews' victims were, baptism by hellfire either broke you or made you stronger. It was something Ross understood; the desire to survive. She had felt everything these women had endured; to the point of expecting to see acid burns on her own skin, immersed herself in Andrews' predatory nature for hours on end. She would know him if she was blindfolded in a room full of people; his malice was that strong.

Now he stood before her as a result of leaving his fingerprints at Kayla's apartment; after he'd sworn five ways to Sunday that he'd didn't know her and had never been there. The lab had been able to match his print with a partial from another victim. _Well, they nailed Capone on tax evasion …_

Ross gave Andrews an icy smile, allowing her darker side to emerge; she'd seen herself in enough two way mirrors to know exactly what Andrews saw - a ghostly pale woman with death in her eyes, and relished the wave of fear that emanated from him. She turned that emotion back against him; one aspect of her talent that she'd carefully kept hidden from others. Legally it was coercion, ethically it was way off the radar – _then again her ethical radar pointed in the opposite direction of the majority, always had; but damn payback felt good – a vicodin buzz on steroids. It was addictive as hell – with all the same drawbacks; but sometimes she couldn't help herself. _

"Hello Jason." Pleasant, cordial, high as a kite on adrenaline; watching him sweat bullets, he wanted out so bad he was shaking like a junkie in the throes of withdrawal. "What's on your mind?"

"I can't go to jail; I didn't rape those girls." Andrews paced around the cell, white as a sheet. _Mad as hell and just as scared; not so much fun when you aren't the one in control is it?_

"The evidence says otherwise, but I'm listening; of course anything you tell me will be passed on to the prosecution."

"I know." Andrews' eyes burned into hers. "I'm guilty; you'll find my DNA's a match - but I wasn't the one who did it. Please don't leave me in here with him!"

"Jason, are you telling me that there are two of you; in the same body? Sorry, but I don't believe you. Surely a smart guy like you can think of something more original." The adrenaline high was burning out; everything going sideways, needles of pain stabbing her eyes. Andrews fear was reaching atomic levels; the guards glancing their way, moving closer as his voice grew hysterical. _Something was off, he was too intense. Then again she hadn't run into a suspect with alleged multiple personalities; so what did she know? Shit! _

Without realizing it Ross had moved closer to the cell door, she was almost touching the grille. She could feel her carefully constructed mental shields beginning to crack under Andrews' emotional barrage; _and she'd thought Horatio was intense! _Instinctively, Ross closed her eyes, attempting to refocus and regain control. At first she thought the dampness on her cheek was perspiration; after all, everyone was tense and the A/C in the lockup area was dodgy at the best of times. _Except that sweat didn't smell like copper._ Her eyes flashed open as Andrews drew the razorblade across his right wrist; the left streaming scarlet from a deep incision. _How the fuck did he get a blade in here?!!_

"Officer requires assistance!" Ross snapped out; aware of the guards running towards her. "We need EMS in here now!" The pain in her head exploded. _Mother of God; please help me!_

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_Looks like we're both having a bad night_. Horatio thought as he walked up to join Tripp at the guards' station. "Frowning causes wrinkles Frank." Contrary to popular belief, he did have a sense of humour; the dry deadpan kind.

"Thought you were off the clock." Tripp ignored the other man's jibe; he needed a beer and an aspirin – not necessarily in that order. "Working solo; don't you CSIs usually travel in pairs like nuns?"

"Block party turned gang shootout in Calle Ocho; nightshift called for reinforcements, five blocks with more holes than Lapidus' Swiss cheese wall at the Fontainebleau." Horatio pulled a pair of latex gloves from his kit and gloved up; the actions second nature. "I'll be signing Calleigh's overtime slips for a week."

Both men glanced up at the distinctive sound of a gurney approaching. Horatio hid his shock and growing sense of dread behind a blank expression as paramedics wheeled Jason Andrews out towards the waiting ambulance. He was unconscious and pale; both wrists were swathed in bandages and gauze already showing red in spots. _Could this day get any more fucked up?_

Horatio picked up his kit glanced at Tripp and the two of them headed towards the yellow tape stretched across the entrance to the lockup. Officers hovered in small groups - whispered conversations coming to an abrupt halt as they caught sight of the redheaded CSI. Tripp held the tape up to allow Horatio to precede him into the crime scene; a small group of three people occupied the far end of the hallway outside the cellblock. Horatio's worst suspicions were confirmed as he spotted Ross hunched against the wall between two uniformed officers. "Talk to me Frank; what happened?"

Tripp took a minute to organize his thoughts; what happened was still a shock to him. "Andrews slashed his wrists with a razorblade; still trying to figure out how he got one past the guards. The kid was alone, so he must have had it on him; heads will roll, I can guarantee that."

"Make sure there's a uniform on Andrews' door at the hospital 24/7; he'll already be under suicide watch, but let's not give him another chance. We may not be so lucky next time." Horatio faced Tripp; hands on hips, head tilted to one side. "Ross was talking to him when it happened." His voice was flat.

Tripp ran a hand over the top of his head. "Hell, she was the one who called the guards. Paramedics told me they had to pull her off of him; she was kneeling in his fucking blood and hanging on for dear life. Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum over there have been keeping folks away; not that she's been all that friendly."

Horatio walked over to the open cell door and looked inside. Blood on the floor; telltale voids confirming Frank's account - tracks leading away from it to the door. A flash of movement out of the corner of his eye caused him to look up in time to see Ryan Wolfe ducking under the tape. "I thought Eric got the call out on this one; where is he?"

"Helping Calleigh pull slugs out of walls, and cars, and trees; we swapped – he's got seniority." He glanced towards the end of the hall; Ross had hunched up as much as possible while still remaining vertical. "Is she going to be okay?"

Horatio followed the younger man's gaze; what he saw had dread gathering in the pit of his stomach again. "That's a very good question. Let me worry about that; okay? Full process please Mr. Wolfe; dot all the I's and cross the T's. Let's not give Mr. Andrews' lawyer any extra ammunition."

* * *

Her eyelids flickered and she swallowed hard; gripping the pendant around her neck in her left hand like a lifeline. She could feel him looking at her, the weight of his gaze growing heavier as he drew closer. Ross stared at the floor; reading it like a roadmap marking the way out of hell. She felt numb and yet acutely aware of every sensation; swallowing four more vicodin in the confusion after the paramedics arrived - the pain in her head was killing her.

"Hey there," Horatio approached her slowly; inching into Ross's field of vision by degrees – careful not to invade her personal space, but shielding her from prying eyes as much as possible. There was blood all over her; Horatio knew what drying blood felt like. "Ross, I need you to look at me please." He put a hand on her shoulder and stepped closer; feeling the tremors running through her, every protective instinct and a few baser ones on full alert. _How twisted is that? You're standing in the middle of a crime scene for Christ's sake; she's in shock, she's vulnerable and you're lusting after her – get a fucking grip!_

Ross's head snapped up – her breath hissing through her teeth. She could handle the sexual attraction; she wasn't dead, just in major denial – but being the focus of Horatio's saviour complex really galled. _You want me to look at you Caine? You got it; in spades! _Without warning, Ross grabbed the lapels of his jacket and shoved; anger enhancing the strength of her six foot frame, pivoting and using their combined body weight to send them slamming back against the wall.

Horatio felt the back of his head hit the wall; stars danced before his eyes briefly. _Well you didn't see that coming; you're going to have one hell of a headache in a few hours. _Ross had effectively reversed their positions; pinning him against the wall. He could break her hold at any time and she knew it; he was well within his rights to restrain her, throw her in a holding cell and charge her with assaulting an officer. Horatio looked over her shoulder to see Tripp and the two uniforms moving towards them with that thought in mind; Ryan stood half in and half out of the cell door, fully prepared to assist if necessary but not relishing the idea. _Better put a lid on this right now._

"Stand down gentlemen; everything's under control." Horatio kept his voice low and willed his muscles to become pliant, sinking into the wall and taking her with him. She was close enough that he could see the copper streaks in her green eyes and the unusual black rims around her irises; glassy with shock, familiar yet alien at the same time.

"Are you sure about that Horatio?" Tripp sounded dubious; and received a nod in return. Giving Ryan a 'do you know what the fuck he's up to?' look the Texan sighed and motioned to the two uniforms to back off. Ryan gave Tripp a 'search me; I just work here' shrug.

Ross felt the warmth of Horatio's hands seeping through layers of latex and fabric; he'd grabbed hold of her upper arms at some point, his grip was firm but not painful. At this range his eyes were hypnotic; there was no where for her to hide. She felt raw, on the ragged edge and exposed; torn between the overwhelming desire to run and an equally strong impulse to give into temptation and let him hold her. "Damn you Horatio Caine." Her voice was strained and brittle. "Stay away from me; some people can't or won't be protected."

Horatio kept watching her; concealing the pain her words had caused. _If she wanted space, he'd give it to her; but she wasn't getting rid of him that easily_. Ross's eyes were enormous in the pallor of her face; Andrew's blood tracing a scarlet filigree over her left cheek, staining her charcoal grey suit black in places. He let go of her arms slowly; ready to catch her if she collapsed. "Frank; find an officer to give Agent Marlowe a ride home please?"

"No problem; hey Carruthers – give the lady a ride home would you?" Frank beckoned to female officer who stood on the other side of the tape.

Ross looked at the blood on her hands and then at Horatio; his blue shirt was stained in blood. "To be continued Lieutenant?" Her voice was stronger, but by no means calm; Horatio was watching her like one of her cats – patient and intense at the same time.

Horatio nodded. "Yes Ma'am." He watched her walk towards the tape; soundless perfectly balanced strides and poise that would make Queen Elizabeth proud. Carruthers held the tape up for her and the two women walked the gauntlet of curious onlookers that led to the parking lot. "Gentlemen…"

"What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas?" Ryan finished the sentence, earning a raised eyebrow from Horatio and a sour look from Tripp. "Just saying what we're all thinking. Don't worry H, my lips are sealed."

* * *

The two cats exchanged glances; she'd been sitting on the couch in the dark for quite some time, _something wasn't right_. Blood smell clung to her; that was why they were hiding behind the armchair.

Ross hadn't changed clothes after she'd come home; that would mean touching the bloodstains – something she wasn't prepared to do. The rational side of her asserted that she was preserving evidence; _screw rationality, she was scared to see just how bloody she was._ Her only concession had been to wash the blood from her face and hands; the water turning pink then crimson – shades of Lady Macbeth.

She dialled Quantico; there was a chance that Penelope Garcia would be working late. The eccentric blonde was the best researcher in the BAU and one of the few people that Ross considered to be a friend.

"Information Central; what do you seek oh humble pilgrim?" Garcia picked up on the second ring.

"Anything you can find on Jason Andrews medical history; specifically anything having to do with mental illness. Go as far back and as wide range as you can; open sealed files – do whatever you need to." Ross pulled the pins out of her hair and rubbed her scalp. She could hear the sound of keyboarding in the background. "Hell, just find me anything that we don't already know about this guy – and Garcia; I need this yesterday."

"I hear and obey. What's wrong sugar? You sound like hell; headaches again?"

"Just a very bad day at the office; I'm sitting here trying to make sense of the incomprehensible. Call me when you have something." _Some things you didn't even tell your friends … _Ross hung up before Garcia could reply; she dialled another number, hoping to catch her mentor Jason Gideon – he'd recruited her into the BAU; helped her develop her gift, been there during a particularly black period. If Garcia was a friend, Gideon was her father confessor.

He was out in the field – her call went to voicemail. Like she would leave a message _Hey Gideon its Ross; I made a suspect try to kill himself today and I'm thinking about sleeping with the lead CSI; would Hotchner consider that a conflict of interest? Call me back so we can discuss how thoroughly I've fucked up both this case and my future career with the Bureau will you?_

Ross left a call back number and sat in the dark drinking her third Scotch in less than two hours; _Horatio would be paying her a visit; that was as certain as death and the IRS. _Ross's cell phone rang the sound reaching her ears from a great distance even though the coffee table was less than two feet away; easy to ignore in the hazy calm gradually overtaking her. She unfastened her necklace and studied the inscription on the pendant; _has my faith remained through the storm, or is like everything else in my life – a shadow of what once was? The blood is real though, and the pain; you can always count on pain. _

An unused razorblade gleamed dully alongside the bottles of vicodin and Prozac; _it would be so easy – letting the blood flow …_ Darkness gathered at the edge of her vision; Ross set the glass on the table, her fingers going numb. _Won't Alexx be surprised …?_

The two cats exchanged glances again as unconsciousness overtook her; venturing out from behind the chair when she slipped to the floor – staring at her with unblinking eyes. _Humans were so unpredictable … _

* * *

_Casa Del Marlowe_, _nice digs_. Horatio didn't know what he expected; an ultra modern South Beach condo, maybe - definitely not an oceanfront Miami Modern two-storey with a vintage red 1964 Mustang convertible in the driveway and a garden that resembled a small jungle. He parked the Hummer on the street and made his way to the front door; taking a longing glance at the Mustang as he passed. _Damn, another nail in his coffin._

All the windows were dark and the doorbell went unanswered. He tried the doorknob; it turned easily - an unlocked front door was always a bad sign. Horatio drew his weapon and stood to one side; pushing the door open with his foot. Peering into the darkness beyond, he called out "Miami-Dade Police Department; Ross are you okay?" No response; definitely not good. _On the up side; nobody had attempted to blow his head off - yet._

Stepping into the foyer; he surveyed the layout as best he could using the outside light filtering through the floor to ceiling widows –living and dining areas on the main floor, bedrooms upstairs. Pulling his flashlight out of his pocket, he searched the main floor - all clear; a sweep of the upper floors yields the same results. _Not bad, but not good either._

A low growl stopped him as he re-entered the living room; quickly joined by another. Sibilant hisses followed the growls; clearly audible over the music from the stereo - _cats, more than one – protecting something … or someone_. Horatio swept the room with the beam of his flashlight; confronted with the unsettling shine of a pair of golden eyes through the shadows at the end of the sofa - a second pair of green eyes gleamed along the sofa back. He holstered his gun and located the wall switch, flooding the room with light – seeing Ross's body for the first time. _Dear God no; not again please … please not again; enough is enough!_

She'd fallen in a foetal position; between the sofa and the coffee table – her body concealed by the sofa's bulk. Horatio stepped toward her; assessing the scene quickly; cell phone on the table – closed but turned on with a missed call message, _did she call for help and fail to connect?_ Two pill bottles – nearly empty; vicodin and Prozac, next to a bottle of Scotch and an empty glass along with a razorblade – _pills, booze and blades spell attempted suicide. _

A battle scarred orange tabby the size of a basketball blocked his path, ears laid back; the owner of the golden eyes - growling low in its throat, crouched to spring; displaying matching sets of lethal claws and teeth – tail lashing back and forth in warning. The second cat was smaller; skinny even, green eyed and charcoal gray – what it lacked in size it made up for in 'I will rip your face off' attitude; otherwise it was a mirror image of the first animal. The gray cat jumped down from the back of the sofa to stand guard by Ross's head. Both cats studied him with narrowed predatory eyes. _Nice kitties._

Horatio knelt down slowly at Ross's feet - careful to avoid any sudden movements. The tabby backed up a few paces; tracking his every movement, sniffing the air. "Hi there; you're worried about her aren't you? Let's make a deal; you two don't take a piece out of me, and I'll try to help her hmm?" _Negotiating with cats; if the situation wasn't so serious it would be funny. _

Getting to his feet, he pressed his luck; pulling the coffee table further away from the sofa so he could get closer to Ross. The wood and glass creation moved grudgingly across the hardwood floor; but it moved, giving him room to work - theanimals backed away slowly; finally turning tail and streaking up the stairs to the second floor.

Horatio felt for a pulse and didn't find one; she wasn't breathing either. A gleam of silver caught his eye; he opened her fingers and removed the necklace from her hand, tucking it into his pocket for safekeeping. He reached for his cell phone and dialled Central Dispatch. "This is CSI Caine; I need Rescue to 2740 Biscayne immediately – officer down." He started administering CPR muttering "You're not going to die; I will not let that happen." _Don't think about Raymond, or Speed, or Marisol; especially not Marisol._ _Ross may not want to be protected; but saving her life is another matter damn it._


	4. Chapter 4: Lies of Omission

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _CSI: Miami_ or _Criminal Minds_, I just play with them on weekends and return them in a gently used condition. Please don't sue :-)

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone on the MiamiFicTalk and AllThingsHoratioCaine Yahoo groups for your feedback. Morgaine, I believe in giving credit where it's due; thank you for being my beta! A special thank you to David Caruso for his wonderful performances which provide the grist for my fiction mill :-) Please R & R, I'm a sensitive little rabbit who lives for praise!

**Warnings:** It's Criminal Minds + Miami boys and girls; not Walt Disney! Rated M for all the things that make life worth living. Things are heating up; if you can't take it, you know what to do!

* * *

**Chapter 4**

_She lied; she looked you straight in the eye and she fucking lied._ Horatio stared at the test results for the tenth time; hoping that he'd read them incorrectly – _no such luck_. The proof leaped off of the computer screen and sucker punched him; he heard the rush of blood in his ears as the ambient sounds of the lab receded to a dull roar. He hit the print button, only half listening to the whir of the machine; anger and betrayal a dark shadow in his mind, gaining strength with each passing second.

He'd slunk into the lab after two cups of coffee, a hot shower and three hours of sleep; needing the focus of the job to counterbalance the chaos of the past two days. The lab was buzzing with the story of the lockup incident; Horatio had resorted to a tried and true method of discouraging conversation - he walked fast and carried a clipboard. After checking in with Calleigh in Ballistics he'd made a phone call and retreated to the Trace lab to run a hair analysis test. _The scars on her arm were just the tip of the iceberg …._

"Here we go again." Horatio murmured under his breath; slipping the lab results into a folder and heading for the elevator, noting the ominous clouds gathering outside. Rain in Miami wasn't unheard of; but it was rare enough to catch people used to perpetual sunshine off guard – particularly if it was non-hurricane related. Violent downpours drenched everything in sight, sending the population running for cover; only to dissolve into brilliant sunlight and increased humidity a short time later - this one looked like it was going to hang around for a while. _With any luck he'd make it to the ME's office before the storm broke._

* * *

Alexx extracted another piece of glass from the wound tract, dropped it in a numbered evidence envelope and placed it with five other identical envelopes on the trolley beside her. The young man on her autopsy table should have been going to high school and playing basketball on the weekends; instead he'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time – struck by a car and thrown into a plate glass window. _Irresistible force met the immovable object…_

"You shouldn't be here baby; you should be playing pickup games with your friends." She always talked to her patients; it was her way of giving them dignity and humanity. Sometimes she played her Etta James CD's while she worked - what the room lacked in ambience it made up for in great acoustics. _After all, the dead couldn't criticize her musical tastes; even if she did sing off-key._

"Alexx, do you have a minute?" Horatio's voice filled the autopsy room, courtesy of the intercom.

_Somebody should put a bell around his neck!_ Startled, she glanced up to find him looking down at her from the glassed in observation area that ran in a half arc around the top of the autopsy theatre; his black suit and grey dress shirt blending with the shadows – rendering his copper hair all the more brilliant in the reflected light from below.

"For you; always, this young man's in no hurry. I'll be right up." He was deep in thought when she joined him a few minutes later; tapping the edge of a file folder on the railing in front of him in an absent rhythm. "You've been an elusive guy the past few days; everything okay?"

"I had a situation that I needed to take care of." Horatio gave her a sidelong glance. "Actually, that's why I came to see you. I need your professional opinion on something."

Alexx raised an elegantly arched brow, smiling. "Like I told Calleigh once; people say that when they already know the answer and want me to agree with them." She studied the man beside her, noting the tension in his body. "What is it that you want me to look at?"

"This." The words came out in a rush as he handed the folder to her. His voice sounded harsh and raspy. "What do those results tell you?"

Alexx took the folder from him; the tone of his voice had her worried. Horatio was always so controlled; whatever was in that folder obviously touched a nerve. She injected a soothing note into her voice. "Horatio, tell me what's wrong."

"More than you know Alexx; more than you know." He shook his head slightly. "What do you see?"

Alexx opened the folder and scanned the contents; _the man asked for an opinion, so give him one … _"Someone in pain, and I don't mean just the physical kind. People don't mix Prozac, Vicodin and alcohol unless they're seriously self-medicating; and it looks like whoever this is has been doing it for a long time – with a major spike in the past two days. But you already know that." She looked into Horatio's ice blue eyes, confronted by an expression so bleak and strained that she felt tears forming; he looked ready to shatter into a million pieces. "What's going on Horatio?"

"She lied to me Alexx; just like Ray." Horatio felt a stabbing pain in his fingers. Looking down, he discovered that he had a white knuckle grip on the railing; fingernails digging into his palms. With conscious effort he uncurled his fingers; massaging the joints to restore the blood flow, bitter laughter filling the room. "And now I have to pick up the pieces - again." Alexx didn't know what to say as looked at him; _Horatio wouldn't be this broken up over a stranger; these lab results belonged to someone they knew, someone they worked with…_

His cell phone rang insistently "I have to take this call; it's the FBI." A condemned man about to face a firing squad felt happier than he did at this moment.

"We'll talk later." Alexx handed the folder back to Horatio; a dark suspicion taking root in her mind as she left the room. _Nobody truly knows anyone … Dear Lord, help them both._

"Count on it." He replied; ensuring the door was closed securely - _walls had ears_. In a neutral voice he said "Agent Gideon, thank you for returning my call."

"Lieutenant Caine; to what do I owe the pleasure?" The voice was polite and measured.

"Agent Gideon, there's been a development; Ross is no longer able to work the Andrews case. She's a material witness; Andrews attempted suicide two nights ago."

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. "That's unfortunate; probably the reason she called me. I've been trying to get in touch with her."

"It's difficult to answer the phone when you're in the hospital unconscious and recovering from a drug overdose." Horatio's voice was icy. "I would say we need to get together and do some damage control – wouldn't you?"

"Agreed; I'll call you in a few hours."

"I'll be waiting." Horatio hung up before the other man could reply He dialled Calleigh's cell phone as he walked to the Hummer.

"Welcome back to the land of the living Handsome; what can I do for you?" Calleigh sounded tired; one hundred plus casings from the Calle Ocho shooting and counting._ Note to self; sign those overtime slips_.

He climbed into the driver's seat just as fat raindrops started hitting the windshield.

"You can put out the welcome mat; we're expecting guests, assuming they don't drown in this downpour first."

Calleigh's laughter was a musical counterpoint to the rain. "I'll make sure they wipe their feet and get a dose of southern hospitality." In a quiet voice she added "Ross just called; she's back at home, I thought you should know."

"How is she?" Horatio listened to the sound of the rain hitting the roof of the Hummer. _You're asking out of professional concern; there's nothing personal involved … yeah right!_

"Hard to tell – she's not exactly the sharing type." Calleigh replied.

Horatio got the unspoken message; _just like you._ "I'll be on the cell if you need me."

"Good luck."

"Thanks Calleigh; I'm going to need it." Horatio hung up and started the engine; turning on the windshield wipers. For the second time in as many days he drove towards Ross's house; the familiar feeling of dread increasing with every mile. _Looks like we'll finally get to finish our conversation … _

* * *

**_BAU Headquarters: Quantico, VA_**

"What's with the secret confab in Hotchner's office?" Penelope Garcia's inquiry roused Dr. Spencer Reid from an unscheduled cat nap; he nearly face planted into his computer keyboard. Garcia gave him a puckish grin in keeping with her blonde pigtails and straightened the stack of papers that had fallen off the edge of the desk.

"Are you saying that you don't know; you the Queen of all Knowledge, with all your sources of info? Garcia, I'm shocked!" Reid exclaimed in mock horror; spinning around in his office chair like a demented dervish. "First Santa Claus, then the Easter Bunny – now this; my illusions are shattered beyond repair!"

"Even I have my limitations. And you told me you found out that Santa and the Easter Bunny weren't real when you were six." Garcia chuckled, eyes sparkling with mirth behind her glasses. "Give this to Gideon when they come up for air will you? I'm butt deep in this project that Ross has me working on." She tossed a folder onto the desk.

Reid raised his eyebrows. "Sure, what is it; or do I really want to know? How's Ross doing in Miami by the way?"

Garcia shrugged. "In order the answers are: background info, not really and she's been working so hard that I haven't been able to reach her for two days; which is freaky weird." She waved as she headed back to her office; a cubby-hole overrun with computers. "Later, sunshine."

The sound of the door opening had Reid looking up to see Derek Morgan and Jason Gideon coming down the stairs. Senior Special Agent Aaron Hotchner stood frowning in his office doorway. Of the three only Hotchner wore the suit and tie that everyone expected of an FBI agent; Morgan and Gideon's attire ran more towards jeans and t-shirts – with Morgan's fitting better and actually colour coordinating.

"Gideon, Garcia left this for you." Reid held up the folder; the gloomy expression on the older man's face kept him from saying more.

"Thanks." Gideon plucked the file from Reid's hand and tossed it to Morgan; who caught it one handed. "A little light reading for the trip; meet you at the jet in an hour. Don't forget your sunscreen." He walked into his office and slammed the door without another word.

"He seems – upset." Reid remarked, looking to Morgan for an explanation. One of the drawbacks of being the youngest member of the team was that he was often the last to know things; unless they were case related.

"You don't know the half of it Reid." Morgan tucked the folder under his arm and stared at Gideon's door with a grave expression on his handsome face.

* * *

She was waiting for him as he drove up; the skinny gray cat draped over her shoulder like a ghostly scarf. Rain pounded on the Hummer's roof like an upended bucket of ball bearings; the short distance between the vehicle and the doorstep seeming endless. Humidity rushed in as he opened the door; fogging the windows. Cursing under his breath he made a break for it; thankful his shoes had non-skid soles as raced up the front walk, hitting the front step in a bound that made Ross back up slightly.

_He knows._ A chill ran through her that had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with the man in front of her. Horatio Caine was furious; giving her a glimpse of hell in a burning ice-hued glance. Ross unconsciously tightened her grip on the cat; earning a meow of irritation and the subtle pressure of claws. The disorientation she'd felt in the lockup returned. _Only this time it was just the two of them, no witnesses. Admit it; you've always wondered what would happen …._

Horatio felt rainwater dripping down the back of his neck; amazed that it didn't turn to steam, every muscle tense from resisting the impulse to grab her. _Christ! If she didn't stop looking at him like that he'd … you are so not going there! Hey genius; she's a lying junkie remember? Focus! _

"Calleigh didn't allow for weather conditions when she called." Ross's husky voice was devoid of emotion. "You're five minutes late."

"My apologies." The smile he gave her wasn't friendly as he finger combed his dripping hair back from his forehead and braced his left hand against the doorframe behind her; a reversal of the desk incident in his office, leaning in until his lips nearly touched her ear; grateful that they were the same height, watching her pupils dilate – the only indication that she was effected by his proximity._ Payback's a bitch sweetheart_, he thought smugly. In a devastating whisper he said "Inside or out here; your call – either way, we're talking. So what's it going to be hmm?"


	5. Chapter 5: With Coworkers Like These

**Disclaimer:** I don't own nothing that I shouldn't

**A/N:** Post _Criminal Minds_ episodes "Aftermath", "Profiler, Profiled" and "Revelations". Thanks to my betas Morgaine, Shiny San and Robin, my friends Melissa and Susan for nagging, and my co-workers Ruth and Sandy for not ratting me out for writing on Company time ;) For all those who have left feedback here, on From Out of the Lab and the various Yahoo groups I post to - many thanks for the great reviews! For all the other readers - please R & R

* * *

**Chapter 5**

Ross didn't react at all; she just stood there - caged between his body and the partially open door behind her. She'd attempted to switch to profiler mode when she saw him drive up; tried to place her emotions in suspended animation like she'd done many times before – soul control. _Too bad it hadn't worked. She needed distance; five or six football fields would be a good start …_ Her words were nearly inaudible over the rain. "Is that a threat or a statement of intent?"

Dressed in dark jeans, an olive and maroon paisley patterned long sleeved v-neck T shirt and black ballet flats with her hair loose and no makeup, she looked like a college kid; not much older than Andrews' victims – although Horatio knew for a fact that she was thirty-four. _Except the eyes were wrong; no one's eyes should be that haunted … thirty-four going on one hundred. _Ross was right on the edge, holding herself together by sheer force of will. There was a diamond like intensity about her, a thread of steel running close to the surface; it had been there in the lockup when she'd pinned him to the wall and silently dared him to do something about it – like she was doing now. "It's whatever you want it to mean. You lied to me; I'd like to know why."

_She'd heard him open an interrogation with that phrase countless times during the course of their working relationship. She'd hoped that they'd never have to have this conversation._ "Under normal circumstances I'd tell you to fuck off – but you're right, we have to talk. Come on in; make yourself at home." She turned away slightly to open the door; he was treated to a baleful feline gaze.

He stared right back, refusing to be intimidated by a five pound dust bunny. _Nice to see you again too fur ball; miss me?_ Horatio closed the door behind him, shoes squeaking slightly on the hardwood floor, as he trailed behind her. Ross deposited the gray cat in the armchair; standing in front of the windows, watching the storm sweep in from the ocean; _thunder and lightening - a perfect match for the mood inside._

Her voice was quiet; eyes opaque, arms folded as she turned to face him. "I can tell you what you want to hear, or I can tell you the truth – your decision."

* * *

_**BAU Headquarters: Quantico, VA**_

Morgan split the last of his paperwork between Reid's desk and that of Special Agent Emily Prentiss; the newest member of the team. _The constant reminder that Elle was gone … wonder she's doing now; getting some help hopefully? Shooting a suspect was pretty extreme … Come to think of it, history was repeating itself; Hotch and Gideon were pretty gloomy then too. _But there was something more to Gideon's sombre demeanour this time around.

Morgan pondered the other man's mood as he walked to the elevator; the file that Garcia had compiled burning a hole in his messenger bag. Prentiss brushed past him in the reception area, talking on her cell phone. She barely noticed him, being in the middle of an intense conversation with someone named Stephanie. _No one knew that much about Prentiss, they didn't want to get too close in case she couldn't cut it._

The pretty brunette nearly collided with Agent Jennifer 'J.J.' Jareau, the team's liaison and profile coordinator. J.J. was an all-American girl; blond hair, blue eyes and blessed with a knack for being able to work with anyone from law enforcement officers to victim's families – _a definite plus since Hotch and Gideon could try the patience of a saint at times._ J.J. was absorbed in a stack of files; the two women never made eye contact, but they stepped out of each other's way at the last moment – a perfectly choreographed example of the office two-step.

Morgan shook his head, punching the down button. The elevator arrived moments later, blessedly empty. Morgan hated crowded elevators; the strained silence grated on his nerves. He hit the button for the garage and stared at the ceiling as the floor numbers counted down; his buddy Andre would look after Clooney for the duration of the trip – _here's hoping both dog and man didn't do anything too stupid while he was gone._

He found Gideon hauling a duffle bag out of the trunk of his car one slot over from where Morgan parked his own vehicle. The older man glanced up as he placed a Kevlar vest, a baseball cap, a multi-pocketed mesh utility vest and a windbreaker jacket on top of the bag; all were dark blue with 'FBI' stencilled on them in white, the jacket and cap sporting the agency crest for good measure. At a scene, it always paid to know who everybody was; even if the place ended up looking like alphabet soup from all the acronyms.

Gideon stuffed the utility vest, jacket and hat into the duffle and slung it over his shoulder in an easy movement. He picked up the Kevlar vest and draped it over his left arm. Slamming the trunk shut he observed dryly "You cleared the decks fast."

"Hey, you said an hour; just call me the king of time management." Morgan grinned as he pulled his own equipment and luggage out of his trunk. Everyone in the unit kept a packed suitcase in their car; case callout came at all hours of the day or night, often on extremely short notice. "Ever been to Miami before?" He distributed his gear in an identical fashion and slammed his on trunk closed. The two men began walking towards the access tunnel that led to the tarmac where the BAU jet waited.

"Last time I went to Florida was to interview Ted Bundy; Miami wasn't on the itinerary." Gideon glanced at Morgan, his dark eyes assessing. "You really lit into Hotchner back there."

Morgan returned his gaze as they crossed the tarmac towards the jet. In the past, he would have taken the comment at face value; but unforeseen events on a recent trip back home to Chicago had resulted in a rift between Morgan and his colleagues. _He still couldn't believe that they had opened that sealed file containing his juvenile record! _"And I apologized; too much caffeine and too little sleep. Gideon, Hotch and I are cool – don't sweat it."

Gideon gave him a look that said that he believed him - almost. _Sometimes he worried about Morgan; who knows what would have happened to Tobias Hankel if Reid hadn't taken advantage of the situation and shot him - Morgan had made it pretty clear that he'd wanted Hankel's head …_"What did you think of the file; interesting reading isn't it?" The comment was tossed over his shoulder as he climbed the short run of steps to the jet's door and ducked inside.

Morgan refrained from answering until they were both seated at the jet's conference table and the aircraft had taken off. "Why are you so interested in Lieutenant Caine Gideon?"

Gideon steepled his fingers under his chin, glasses perched on the end of his nose, saying nothing. Morgan admired the other man's mind; he was one of the best profilers in the country, but sometimes Gideon's aversion to getting quickly to the point was damned annoying. "Because Derek; you don't handle dynamite without reading the safety instructions first."

"You've lost me." Morgan furrowed his brow and toying with the coffee cup in front of him; ignoring its lukewarm contents. "Are we referring to the whole situation here, or the man himself? Because on paper this guy's one step away from sainthood."

Gideon smiled faintly "That's what I like about you Morgan; you see the big picture as well as the details." He leaned forward intently. "Even saints are human. Everything in Caine's background suggests that he'll do anything to protect his team; his demeanour on the phone earlier tells me that he considers Ross part of that team, whether we like it or not. Who knows how he'll react if things continue to go sideways?"

"So we're the enemy; even if he called us? What a surprise!" Morgan replied sarcastically. His dark face was grave as he closed the folder. "Gideon, I've gotta ask; did you know that Ross had a drug problem? Because I sure as hell didn't; none of us did – which just demonstrates my belief that Reid isn't alone in being totally clueless about some things."

Gideon looked down at the table and then into Morgan's eyes. "None of us knew about your juvenile record. Morgan, you said it yourself at the time; some things should be kept private." He paused. "Ross has a remarkable gift, but it comes with a high price tag – I'm not agreeing with the method she chose, but I can understand the motive behind it; and up until now it never affected her ability to do the job."

Morgan sighed, chugging his now-cold coffee. "Damn, what a mess!

* * *

_Studying surveillance footage sucks!_ Ryan unsuccessfully stifled a yawn. "How many more of these do we have to look at Cooper?"

Cooper, the resident AV tech, indicated the stack of tapes at his elbow. "You're kidding right? Did becoming a CSI impair you're ability to count in some way? Four more."

"Argh; kill me now, please!" Ryan lamented, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. "Watching paint dry is more interesting than this! Ten plus cameras in the lockup area and not one of them shows how Andrews got the razor blade into his cell or what set him off."

"Don't you always say that the evidence is usually right under your nose? Maybe we're not looking hard enough." Cooper slotted a new tape into the player and queued up the new footage. Both men had been watching tapes for most of the shift with two goals in mind; find out how Andrews got the razorblade past the security check and whether or not Ross instigated Andrews' meltdown in any way. So far their efforts had netted zero results, other than the knowledge that a convict's life in stir was extremely dull.

"If I look any harder I'll need a seeing-eye dog by the end of shift." Ryan stretched his arms over his head. "This would be so much easier if we had cameras in the actual cells as well as the usual places."

Cooper snorted. "Tell that to the ACLU my friend; they'd fry your ass."

"Yeah, yeah; I can dream can't I? Last time I checked that was still legal." Ryan stood, shrugging into the lab coat he'd draped over the back of his chair earlier in the day. "I'm going for coffee, want one?"

"No thanks Wolfeman; I'm good." Cooper indicated the industrial sized mug on the workstation."

"Cooper …" Ryan grumbled; seriously wanting to strangle a certain FBI profiler for the nickname.

"What? Marlowe calls you Wolfeman all the time, what's the difference; other than that fact that she's totally hot?" Cooper watched the screen in front of him, wincing at the image of Horatio being slammed against the wall. "Ouch; remind me never to piss her off! Hope the boss likes the assertive type. And she's a redhead!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ryan retorted, not liking the implications of Cooper's remark in the slightest.

Cooper grinned; swigging coffee. "For a bright guy, you're pretty dense about some things; Horatio and Marlowe? There's some pretty heavy male-female tension there. You ask me? The boss better move fast; because once this case is over she's on to the next nut-job du jour."

"You seriously need a girlfriend Cooper; loneliness is making you hallucinate." Ryan shook his head in disgust and headed for the door.

"Watch them the next time they think there's nobody looking; then tell me if I'm hallucinating Wolfeman!" Cooper replied over his shoulder.

"Stop calling me that!" Ryan headed for the break room, fuming silently. _Cooper's a git; there's nothing going on with Horatio and Ross – is there? Now you'll be thinking about this for the rest of the day; damned OCD!_


	6. Chapter 6: Rain & Revelations

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing from CSI: Miami or Criminal Minds, so please don't sue. Ross is the product of my own twisted brain and I take full responsibility for her actions :)

**A/N:** Thanks muchly to my beta team - you guys are fab! The muse grabbed his shades, took the Hummer and ran!

* * *

**Chapter 6**

Ross felt the weight of his anger pressing in on her; all the more powerful for being so tightly controlled – it was a nearly physical presence in the room, raising the hair on the back of her neck and pressing along her skin. As angry as Horatio was, she didn't sense any cruelty or manipulation in him; only pain at being betrayed - again.

Horatio held her gaze, amazed that she had the nerve to stand there issuing ultimatums of her own and admiring her for doing it at the same time. Stress and exhaustion made his voice raspier than usual. "There's a difference?"

She felt the impact of his voice like a physical caress on the back of her neck. The sensation conjured several interesting and highly unprofessional thoughts. _Damn the man was lethal!_ "If I tell you what you want to hear, you'll feel less guilty but then you'll wonder if I've been screwing with your head from the word go. Telling the truth will make us both feel like shit, but all the cards will be on the table." With great effort she stepped away from him and curled up in a corner of the couch; evicting the orange tabby from its resting place and earning a dismissive glare as the animal disappeared into the kitchen in search of food.

Horatio shrugged out of his suit coat; draped it over the arm of the couch and placed his cell phone on the coffee table. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, avoiding his gaze; toying with the pendant around her neck, a gesture that was more meditative than nervous – one that he found extremely seductive. He sat next to her, close enough to invite confidence without being threatening. "I'm not interested in what happened with Andrews right now."

"Then why are you here Horatio?" Anger simmered just below the surface of her voice; made her eyes nearly incandescent, tensed every muscle in her body. "I don't want pity. I am not now, nor have I ever been a victim in need of protection; quite the opposite, I hunt monsters because _under the right conditions I could be just like them. _I don't take drugs and cut myself because my father's emotionally unavailable and my mother committed suicide by slashing her wrists after my older sister was murdered because she couldn't deal. I do it because it helps me function; drugs don't make me high, they make me neutral."

* * *

Eric had never been so wet in his life; there was a difference between processing a crime scene under fifty feet of water in a wetsuit on purpose and trying to process a crime scene during one of Mother Nature's temper tantrums. He and Natalia Boa Vista had tried to process as much as they could before the storm hit, but rain was a CSI's worst enemy; destroying evidence as fast as they could collect it. _Shit he was cold; please God, let there be coffee in the break room!_

Ryan heard squelching sounds in the hallway and looked up to see Eric – _he assumed this drowned rat was Eric_ – standing in the break room doorway eying the coffee pot in his hand like Dracula in a blood bank. He poured the remains of the coffee pot into a latte mug and set it on the counter with a thump. "Jeez Delko; did you go diving without your wetsuit?"

"Ha-Ha; very funny Wolfe. You try processing a scene in the 'Glades when there's a monsoon happening." Eric growled leaving wet footprints behind him as he made a beeline for the beverage. "Just give me coffee and no one gets hurt; and make some more will you? Natalia will be in here after she wrings herself dry."

"Coming up; do you prefer the consistency of roofing tar or paint remover?" Ryan opened the cupboard containing coffee supplies and went through the motions of preparing another pot. "Because that's how strong I make it." Soon the hissing and spitting sounds of the coffee maker filled the room along with a heavenly aroma.

"Ryan, I am so cold right now that I could care less." Eric grabbed the mug and dropped onto the sleek steel framed black leather couch; sighing ecstatically with the first sip and savouring the warmth creeping through his system. "Damn that's good! Any longer out there and we would have grown gills."

Ryan waggled his eyebrows like Groucho Marx as he added sugar and cream to his own coffee. "You say that like it's a bad thing; I think Nat would make a pretty decent mermaid." He faced the other man; leaning against the counter with arms folded across his chest and ankles crossed, his expression troubled. "Can I ask you something?"

Eric gave him a smart aleck grin; having to admit that the mermaid image was interesting. "I don't know; can you?"

Ryan sighed in consternation. "Seriously, Cooper said something earlier that's been bugging me; about Horatio."

Eric's smile faded as he noted his friend's troubled expression. "What about H?""

Ryan sipped his coffee, taking the time to organize his thoughts. He took at deep breath to calm himself; but the words tumbled out in a rush, as if saying them quickly would prevent his chickening out. "Cooper said – he said that H may have a thing for Marlowe." Ryan ran his free hand through his hair, causing the dark strands to stand on end. "You know how this place is; somebody tells someone something private and ten minutes later everyone knows it."

Eric carefully set his mug down in front of him, counting to twenty before he responded. "Who else has he told?" He was impressed with how even his voice sounded; considering he was going to murder Cooper in the most painful way known to man when he got his hands on him. _Then again, rumours often held grains of truth; it wasn't like either of them to disappear without a word, and you had to admit that the timing was pretty weird._ Eric recalled a conversation he'd had with Horatio a few years back about the pitfalls of becoming involved with anyone connected to a case; either inside or outside of the lab._ Damn it H; what the hell, on County time? You're too smart for that…_

"Just me, I swear." Ryan crossed his heart and hoped not to die. _Boy, he's taking this well._

Eric released a sigh of relief; he had no illusions that Horatio had been passionately in love with his sister Marisol when he married her; but his brother-in-law preferred to keep his private life separate from the job. The possibility of this rumour – _if it was a rumour_ – reaching Horatio's ears made him cringe inwardly. "Good, make sure that it stays that way."

"Hey guys; oh thank God there's coffee!" Natalia breezed through the door, heading straight for the machine. She was slightly less drenched than Eric, but not by much; the rain had washed off her makeup and her taupe slacks and melon hued top looked worse for wear. Grabbing a mug from the cupboard; she added a heavy dose of cream to her coffee, pausing to wipe away a droplet of water migrating from her hairline to her chin. She glanced from Ryan to Eric and back again. "Did I interrupt something?"

"No." Both men replied simultaneously with such innocence that her radar went up immediately.

"Right." She drawled sarcastically. "Ryan, Valera wants to talk to you ASAP. She apologizes for the delay; there was some kind of a computer glitch the other day."

"Gotta love technology." Ryan shrugged. "Thanks Nat, you've saved me from surveillance tape hell with Cooper; at least temporarily. Delko, that thing we were talking about? I'll take care of it." He rinsed his mug in the sink and headed off to the DNA lab.

Natalia gazed after him with a puzzled expression. "I'll take care of it? Well that was a _Sopranos_ moment; care to share, or will you have to kill me if you tell?"

"Woman trouble." Eric replied evenly_; technically he wasn't lying. _"Cooper's just giving Wolfe a hard time. It's nothing."

* * *

Horatio rubbed the back of his neck, wondering if all this agony was worth it. _Same dance different partner; except there were some very un-familial emotions at work this time._ Anger was mixing with something darker; making him edgy, and threatening his restraint. Without thinking, Horatio grasped her left wrist with his right hand; pushing her sleeve up to the elbow with his left, tightening his grip slightly when she tried to pull away; feathering his thumb over her accelerating pulse, the first scar inches away. "Jeopardizing an entire investigation, throwing away a career; yeah, that's really neutral behaviour. You can bullshit everyone else; but not me. You gave up that right when I found you nearly dead."

Ross shook her head is disbelief, causing garnet fire to run through her hair and the small diamond drops in her ears to tremble. "I knew that you had a serious damsel in distress complex, but this is verging on pathological! Thanks for bringing me back from the dead; I owe you one. But before you get too comfortable in that mental monastery of yours take a good look in the mirror; you're just as much of an addict as I am."

She turned her left hand within Horatio's grasp until her fingertips rested on top of his forearm. Her eyes were shadowed. "You get high on being a hero Slick, there's no rehab program for that; one day it's going to get you killed."


	7. Chapter 7: Dirty Little Secrets

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Criminal Minds_ or _CSI: Miami_; if I did there'd be a helluva lot more crossovers, so please don't sue.

**Warnings:** Contains mild fluff/ smut; you don't like, you don't read capisce?

**A/N: **To all of you who have been nagging - er - gently reminding me to get this chapter off the PC and up here a big thank you for your patientice and persistence; RL's been a pain lately. Many thanks to "Team Beta"; especially Robin for helping me write myself out of a corner. To everyone on the Miami FicTalk, AllThingsHoratioCaine and CSIFanFiction Yahoo groups thank you for your kind words. This is my first attempt at fluff so please be gentle.

Special thanks to Sarah McLachlan for providing my "soundtrack"

* * *

**Chapter 7:**

**Dirty Little Secrets**

_Well you wondered what she saw, and now you know … hurts doesn't it? _Horatio felt the blood drain from his face, aware of the world around him in that odd disconnected way rendered some senses dull and others painfully acute. Her words had the effect of a knife between the ribs; as she'd no doubt intended them to. He felt her hand slip from his grasp as she rose from the couch and paced to the bookcase on the opposite side of the room.

Ross hit the play button on the stereo as she passed; smiling ironically as Sarah McLachlan sang about dirty little secrets. She gripped the edge of a bookshelf with both hands, feeling the wood cut into her palms. The silence was becoming oppressive; she could feel him looking at her from across the room. _Why didn't he say something damn it!_

Horatio sighed, his voice a mere thread of sound in the silence. "That's why I became a CSI."

Ross shot him a narrow-eyed glance; she shook her head very slowly. "Come on Horatio; that's a cop-out, you know it is."

"It's the truth." Horatio replied quietly, absolute conviction in his voice.

"Truth cuts both ways Horatio; that's why you have to be careful with it." She turned back towards him, a cynical expression on her face. "That's why everybody lies; to others, to themselves - it's safer that way."

"Trust works both ways too." Horatio looked away briefly; collecting his thoughts. "A few years ago, the team caught a sniper case; the guy was a retired Marine. He killed five people before we caught him."

Ross nodded. "I remember reading about it; the guy didn't choose victims, he chose locations – the farther away the better."

"And he'd only take the shot when conditions were perfect." Horatio continued. "We tracked him to his next location and used the chopper to ruin his shot by fucking up the wind conditions."

"Ingenious; and?" Ross's tone was mild, but her eyes were intent. She knew what was coming next; Calleigh and Eric had told her the story, but she wanted to hear his version.

"And I deliberately stood directly in his line of fire. I couldn't see him; he was over nine hundred yards away, but I knew that he could see me." Horatio paused briefly, rising from the couch and closing the distance between them. "It – it was pretty intense; fantastic actually. I know that I could have been killed, but at that moment I didn't care. And if I found myself in a similar situation I'd do it again."

"So you're saying you saved me because you needed a fix? Stop lying to yourself. You know the real reason you did it." An edgy darkness moved through her eyes turning them green- black. "You just won't admit to it."

"I've seen too many people die in front of me; people I cared about." The fact that this woman could read him so easily was frightening; and seductive as hell. He was a man who valued being in control, both in his job and his personal relationships; he decided how much to reveal or conceal, even his unrequited love for Yelina hadn't reached this level of emotional turmoil. He hated it and loved it at the same time.

Horatio took a step toward her._ Okay, major invasion of personal space, but looming wasn't possible when both parties were the same height._ She took a step back; he followed her like a familiar dance partner, smiling darkly when she realized that she'd backed herself into a literal corner. He braced one hand on the shelf behind her head, idly tracing the chain around her neck with the other. "I didn't want to add you to the list."

"Why?" Fire spread beneath her skin where he touched her, like a match being stuck. The air felt heavy; the intensity of emotion creating a buzz in her veins. She baited him. "Martyrdom's boring so you're trying for sainthood; I'm some kind of penance project?"

"I do seem to be developing a taste for mental self torture." The blood in his veins lit up like gasoline in the presence of a match. His fingers left her necklace and skimmed up the side of her neck, turning up the heat. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, he leaned in and whispered. "What I've been thinking would get me disqualified though."

Ross closed her eyes, shivering at the sensation of his fingers caressing the back of her neck. His voice wrapped her in a layer of fire that burned from the inside out. An image of what would have happened in his office if they hadn't been interrupted built in her mind; the contrast between the darkly carnal fantasy and his current restraint almost shattered her. She gripped the shelf behind her with enough force to cut the circulation in her fingers and leave scratches in the wood, stifling a groan. _Oh yeah, no arguments from this side of the floor…_

She opened her eyes and looked at him; his eyes were glittering, and so dark they didn't look blue in the dim light. There was also a subtle expression of arrogant confidence on his face that she hadn't seen before, and it was sexy as hell._ That sonofabitch, he'd let that slip on purpose …_

* * *

"My first trip to Florida and it rains!" Morgan grumbled as he and Gideon stepped out of the elevator into the reception area of the Crime lab. He compared the glass walls and open concept floor plan to the concrete rabbit warren at Quantico and whistled. "Nice crib!"

"It could be worse; it could be hurricane season. Their window cleaning bill must be enormous." Gideon remarked in a deadpan voice "Get Garcia on the horn. Give her this number and tell her we need a location ASAP."

"You already have work for Garcia?" Morgan took the Post-It Gideon handed to him and hit speed dial, a quizzical look on his face. "Should I be only mildly concerned or worried as all hell?"

"I'm testing a theory." Gideon replied over his shoulder as he strode to the reception desk. "Agents Gideon and Morgan, FBI to see Lieutenant Caine and Agent Marlowe."

_Which tells me absolutely nothing …_ Morgan thought in exasperation as he waited for Garcia to pick up.

The trim blonde in a beige sheriff's department uniform behind the desk gave Gideon a professional smile that died the minute his federal badge appeared and reached for the phone.

"Talk to me tall dark and incredibly handsome," Garcia's voice chirped in Morgan's ear. "Miss me yet?"

"Help; all these gorgeous women in bikinis are throwing themselves at me!" Morgan smiled, turning away slightly. "Baby girl, you know I'm desolate without you. Work your magic and get a location on the following number please and thank you." He rattled off the digits.

"Have you no respect for my talents sugar?" In her office at Quantico, Garcia set down her mug of herbal tea with a thump, rolled her eyes and started typing, eyes fixed on the monitors in front of her. "Give me challenge; FYI all cell phones issued to Miami Dade County employees have GPS tracking! And the mystery contestant is, drum roll please, Lieutenant Horatio Caine, Miami-Dade Crime Lab. Heartfelt accolades now being accepted; comparisons to minor deities would be a good place to start."

"You are a goddess! Where's he at?" Morgan could hear the smug grin in her voice. He pulled out a notepad and pencil, using his shoulder to hold the phone while he wrote. "Uh-huh. Thanks sweetness; I'll have a mojito in your honour the first chance I get."

"Don't take candy from any strange beach bunnies, Ciao!" Garcia disconnected.

Morgan closed his phone and handed the note to Gideon. "Now are you going to tell me about this theory or am I going to have to figure it out myself?"

Gideon glanced at the piece of paper, nodded and took a seat on a black leather bench. In a low voice he asked "You're Caine; a member of your team has nearly died from an overdose – what do you do?"

Morgan glanced around the room, taking note of the hostile glances being directed at them. _This was southern hospitality?_ "Restrict who knows what, when and how much. My younger brother died amid rumours of drug abuse and corruption, so I know what a shit-storm a situation like this can turn into."

He took a seat next to Gideon, propping one combat boot shod ankle on the opposite knee he replied in the same low tone. "I need someone to watch my back; so I'll confide in someone I trust implicitly, most likely a colleague with a proven track record of unshakable loyalty to the team and to me personally."

Gideon continued, his eyes sweeping the vicinity. "You've got a history of covering other people's mistakes; taking the bullet so they don't have to. This behaviour started in childhood; a survival mechanism against an abusive parent, most likely your father."

"If the individual in question is female all my instincts are in overdrive; I stepped between my mother's face and my old man's fists a few times when I was a kid so I'm predisposed to being protective of those I see as vulnerable." Morgan took up the thread again without missing a beat. "I'd want answers, assurances that this person won't crack under pressure; I'd want to reassure them that I've got their back. So I find out when they're getting out of the hospital and pay a visit without anyone else knowing about it."

"He's not here, she's not here; you do the math." Gideon glanced up a spark of interest firing in his dark eyes. "And unless I've missed my guess, here comes the person with some of the answers."

Morgan looked up and forgot to breathe as a petite green eyed platinum blonde with a model's face came towards them. She stopped at the reception desk and exchanged a few words with the other woman, glancing briefly at them._ Hello gorgeous …_

Calleigh studied the two men seated across the room, identifying the older man as Gideon without having to be introduced; there was an air of experience and keen intelligence that reminded her of Horatio.She walked towards them with a high-wattage smile firmly in place, her accent more pronounced than usual. "Hi there, I'm Calleigh Duquesne, CSI; don't ask me to spell it, it's a Southern thing. Welcome to the MDPD Crime Lab."

"Jason Gideon," Gideon rose and extended his hand, impressed with the young woman's firm handshake. "Pleasure to meet you; I'm sorry it isn't under better circumstances."

Calleigh returned Gideon's wry smile, already liking this man and wondering what Horatio would make of him. "It's an occupational hazard; just once I'd like to meet somebody without having a dead body lying around."

She turned to Morgan. "I'm pleased to meet you Agent Morgan."

"Likewise," Morgan returned her handshake with a charming smile. "You're the one they call 'Bullet Girl' right?"

"Unfortunately, does that mean I can call you 'Profiler Boy'?" she grinned mischievously "And please call me Calleigh."

"Ouch," I walked right into that one didn't I?" Morgan grinned back accepting the put-down with good grace. "And it's Derek"

"Pretty much, but I think you'll survive." Calleigh shrugged, eyes sparkling. "If it's all the same to you, I'll stick to Morgan; there's an Eric on staff and …"

"Girl, you can call me anything you want." Morgan replied with a shrug. "I won't mind as long as I can hear that accent!"

"You northern boys are such pushovers!" Calleigh shook her head and rolled her eyes. A moment later the mirth disappeared like ice in a heat wave. She looked at them gravely. "Horatio's told me to extend every courtesy; if you'll follow me, we can take this conversation somewhere more private."

The two men fell into step beside her as she led them to one of the empty offices on the first floor; aware that they were drawing curious glances from everyone they passed. _Glass walls definitely had their downside …_ No one said anything until the door was firmly closed behind them. Calleigh sat with her back to the window, Gideon took the chair across from her; Morgan seemed content to lean against the wall and watch the action.

"What do you need?" Calleigh didn't see any point in further social chitchat and she had the distinct impression that the two men wouldn't appreciate it either.

"We need you to tell us what happened," Gideon folded his hands on the table and looked at her directly. "And we need to know exactly what's going on between to two of them."

* * *

Horatio leaned in slowly, giving her plenty of time to tell him to go to hell. He noted the death grip she had on the shelf and the smouldering embers if interest in her eyes. When she didn't shut him down, he tested the waters a bit more; brushing a gentle kiss across her lips. At least that was what he intended; until he heard her breath catch. All bets were off.

It was intense, rapacious; frustration, anger, fear and relief coalescing into a volatile mixture – not your standard first kiss by any measure. Slamming the door on the rational part of his brain with an ease that should have disturbed him, Horatio wove the fingers of one hand into her hair and tightened his grip; tugging her head back and ravaging her neck, skimming her pulse with the edge of his teeth, drawing the skin over her collarbone against his teeth. _Alive …not another ghost to haunt him …._

Ross gasped, let go of the shelf behind her and threaded her fingers through damp strands of his hair his hair, needing an anchor. She felt strung out, loving this dark side of him - the burning sensation of his teeth at her neck was right on the edge between pleasure and pain. _That's going to leave a mark …Who the hell cares?_

"I must be crazy." She whispered, marking him in a similar fashion and revelling in his growl of appreciation. "We're both crazy."

_Yeah, one hundred percent certifiable …_Horatio felt the scrape of her teeth on his neck and slipped his arms around her waist, pressing her back against the bookcase; the first rush of emotion mellowing and blurring around the edges into a slow burn.

"Let me know when you want to start thinking rationally again." He murmured, stringing a series of damp kisses up the side of her neck; getting a contact high from the scent of her perfume - an unusual blend of citrus and basilHe caught her lips in a deep kiss that effectively negated his suggestion.

"What I want Horatio, is to forget just how fucked up this situation is." Ross whispered against his mouth when they both came up for air. "Got any ideas?"

Sarah summed up his response perfectly.

_Just close your eyes dear …_

* * *

Frank Tripp hung up the phone with a little more force than necessary. _Well this was shaping up to be the day from hell … _He took a deep breath and counted to ten, then twenty exhaling a controlled stream of air that lowered his skyrocketing blood pressure slightly. _God damn legal pencil-necks; insanity defence my ass! _

A glance at his watch and his growling stomach informed him that it was way past time to refuel. He left his desk and headed for the vending machines, not exactly the most nutritious option, but he didn't feel like leaving the building. Standing in front of the machine, he surveyed the offerings and made a mental pledge to brown bag it for the next month. Considering the news he'd just gotten from the State's Attorney, he'd be taking everything with an Alka Seltzer chaser for the foreseeable future. _Andrews is crazy all right; crazy-like-a-fox …Horatio and Marlowe are going to love this; like a route canal minus anaesthesia …_

He'd just decided on a repast of Dorito's and Mountain Dew when the sound of voices floated around the corner. Tripp identified one of the voices as belonging to Officer Carruthers, the uniform who had given Marlowe a lift home the night of the lockup incident. It took a bit longer for the second voice to ring a bell, but when it did, Tripp cringed; Jake Berkeley, former ATF cowboy, now Homicide detective and in Tripp's opinion, a world class smart-ass.

Tripp planned to take his junk-food and run; but the topic of conversation nailed his feet to the floor.

"I'm telling you there's something going on between Caine and Marlowe."

"I was there; she was in shock, he tried to help and things got a little emotional. There was nothing 'going on' as you so tactfully put it." Carruthers' voice was sub-Arctic; Tripp could almost hear the steam coming out of Berkeley's ears. _Carruthers one, Berkeley nada … _

"Then why isn't she sitting in a holding cell charged with assault, huh?" Berkeley was indignant. "Caine's not a guy you push around without suffering the consequences."

Carruthers snorted derisively. "So she's sleeping with him; ever consider that maybe he was showing a little sensitivity in light of the fact that a guy had just tried to kill himself in front of her?"

"Then where the hell are they?" Berkeley asked in an insinuating tone. "It's awfully coincidental that they've both vanished off the face of the earth at the same time don't you think? And I heard things about Marlowe when I was ATF; like she's seriously warped from all those serial killers, warped enough to sleep with her boss."

"You know something Berkeley? You're full of it! News flash; the guys who spread those kind of rumours are usually the ones who struck out!" There was a sound of papers being shuffled decisively before Carruthers continued. "I'd be careful if I were you; you're the new kid around here. In a credibility contest, who do you think they'll believe?"

The following silence was deafening; Tripp smiled. _That put him in his place but good … Let's see if he tries for three out of three … _

"IAB doesn't give a damn about credibility; particularly when there's a capital case on the line."

_Shit, fuck and goddamn! That's just what we don't need; Stetler sniffing around!_ Berkeley's statement hit Frank like a bombshell, he looked around the corner; Berkeley had his back to him. Carruthers was looking at the younger man like he was an unwanted piece of gum stuck to her shoe.

She looked up, giving no sign by her facial expression that she saw Tripp coming towards them.

"Hey Berkeley, got a couple?" The sudden tensing of Berkeley's posture gave Tripp immense satisfaction. "Carruthers, the DS is looking for those reports ASAP."

"Yes sir, I was on my way and got delayed." Carruthers put a subtle emphasis on the last word. She gathered her papers, gave Berkeley a withering 'now-you're-going-to-get-it' glance and headed off in the opposite direction, leaving the two men alone in the corridor.

Berkeley had either totally missed the byplay or he was waiting to see how much of a hole he'd dug for himself. Tripp's money was on the latter, and he was more than willing to provide a shove.

"Tell me something Jake," Tripp asked in a conversational tone "Are you trying to piss people off on purpose or is that just a by-product of your winning personality?"

"Something bothering you Frank?" Berkeley's smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Yeah, you could say that." Frank folded his arms and growled. "People who poke their noses where they don't belong and shoot their mouths off about things they know nothing about tend to bother me – _big time_."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Berkeley's tone was placating; having Frank Tripp as an enemy was something he didn't need.

"Oh I think you do Sport. Here's a little piece of advice; keep your trap shut, because if this goes any further and there's nothing to it, IAB will be the _least_ of your problems. Your name will be mud, savvy?" Tripp's smile was more a bearing of teeth than anything else; he clapped Berkeley on the shoulder. "Have a nice day okay?"

Tripp beat feet down the corridor; not bothering to enjoy Berkeley's stunned expression. He tossed his uneaten snack in the trashcan on the way to the parking lot. _Another missed meal but so what? Calleigh was going to hit the fucking ceiling when she heard this …_


	8. Chapter 8: Rumour Mill

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything I shouldn't - if I did, S5 of Miami would have been much better. Please don't sue.

**A/N:** Sorry for the long wait, but I think you'll agree that it's worth it. As always, a big shout out to my betas for nagging etc.

**Warnings:** Language

* * *

**Chapter 8:**

**Rumour Mill**

Frank blew out of the elevator and zeroed in on Paula like a heat seeking missile. In a curt voice he asked "Where's Calleigh?"

_Where's Calleigh, where's Horatio, where's Marlowe; jeez, what did they think she was, the CIA?_ Paula thought in exasperation, peering up at the beefy detective from behind her computer screen.

"She's in Interview room two with Special Agent Gideon and Special Agent Morgan, Detective." She replied in an 'I-thought-you-already-knew-that' tone of voice. "They've been in there for over two hours."

"Thanks." He growled offhandedly, heading towards the room in question at a brisk pace. Wolfe and Cooper were coming towards him from the opposite direction. Wolfe had a file folder in his hand and was speaking in a low voice to the other man.

"So I'd really appreciate it if you'd keep your little theories on the boss's private life to yourself okay? Because spreading that kind of stuff around the lab just isn't cool." Ryan gave Cooper a pointed stare, and Tripp saw the young AV tech wince. "Someone always ends up getting hurt."

"Yeah, sure; what was I thinking?" Cooper nodded briskly, his face flushed. "Listen, if you hear anything else – it didn't come from me. We cool?"

"Yeah," Ryan nodded. "We're cool."

"Sweet!" Cooper's face was a study in relief. He clapped Ryan on the shoulder. "I've got plenty more surveillance tape to watch if you run out of things to do. Later, Wolfeman."

"I'm gonna kill Marlowe for giving me that nickname." Ryan muttered in a resigned voice as he watched Cooper head back to the AV lab.

"Take a number, she calls me Tex." Frank replied, drawing even with the younger man. He raised an eyebrow. "Cooper's mouth operating independently of his brain again?"

"You could say that; trust me, you wouldn't be interested."

_Oh wouldn't he?_ Frank thought sourly, willing to bet a week's pay that he knew exactly whose love life Cooper was speculating about and where he got his information from; but he wasn't about to share that bet with Ryan Wolfe. Instead he shrugged casually. "Whatever, what's in the file Wolfe?"

"DNA results from the Kayla Chambers case." Ryan replied with a faint smile. "We've got the SOB; I was just on my way to Firearms to give the good news to Calleigh, since Horatio's still in the wind."

_Big fucking surprise._ Frank shook his head. "She's not there, but I know where she is; I'll save you a trip."

"Thanks Frank," Ryan handed him the folder with a concerned look. "What's up? You look ready to shoot someone."

"Starting with Andrews' lawyer," Frank groused, rubbing his free hand over the top of his head. "I just heard from the State's Attorney; the defence is laying the groundwork for an insanity defence."

"You think?" Ryan asked bitterly. He gestured to the folder in Frank's hand. "At least something turned out well."

"Yeah," Frank nodded. "Thanks Wolfe."

"No problem. See you later."

Frank watched the young CSI walk away towards the elevators, and then continued walking towards interview room two, tapping the folder against the side of his leg. When he got there, he opened the door without knocking.

Anger simmering below the surface, he asked "Calleigh, got a minute?"

"Come on in Frank," Calleigh winced inwardly at the shortness in his tone, but gave the detective a dazzling smile; determined to be every inch the gracious Southern hostess. She gestured to Gideon and Morgan, who were both watching Tripp with assessing expressions. "This is Special Agent Jason Gideon and Special Agent Derek Morgan of the BAU. Horatio called them in."

Frank studied the two men. Gideon looked like a college professor – right down to the reading glasses perched on his nose; with his casual clothes he was as opposite to Marlowe and her tailored suits as you could possibly get – until you looked into his eyes and saw the same watchfulness. For all his good looks, Morgan had the air of someone who'd been through the school of hard knocks and had gotten where he was by sheer grit and brains – like Horatio. Frank also had the suspicion that Morgan had the tendency to be a bit of a hothead. _Great, just great._

"You guys work with Marlowe." Frank dropped the file folder on the table and went through the traditional round of handshaking and introductions. "Care to tell me where she's vanished to, or should I subscribe to the popular theory that she and Horatio are having an affair and have gone off grid for a little alone time?"

Calleigh felt the blood drain from her face. She looked at Gideon and Morgan; Gideon's expression was calm on the surface, but his eyes were narrowed on Frank like lasers. Morgan's leashed anger was filling the room like static, his knuckles showing white as he clenched his fists and then relaxed them.

Frank noted the two men's reaction with interest. He glanced at Calleigh; she was as white as a sheet and looked guilty as all hell. Frank sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. _He'd worked with Horatio for nearly six years, and yet when he thought about it, he knew very little about the man outside the job. Who knew what really went on in that guy's head; Marisol had been dead for a year, and a man would have to be in a coma not to notice Marlowe, there were collective cases of whiplash and jaws on the floor when she walked by._

"Who told you that Frank?" Calleigh asked in a low voice.

"Jake Berkeley." Frank replied with distaste. He glanced at Gideon. "Berkeley used to be undercover ATF; when his cover was blown he transferred to Homicide. A few months back a guy named Nick Townsend was killed; he was the ex-husband of Natalia Boa Vista, one of our CSIs – long story short, Berkeley was assigned to the case to avoid a conflict of interest."

"And this is important how?" Morgan asked in a tight voice.

Frank took a breath to continue but Calleigh stopped him, placing a hand on his arm. Her voice was level, but the three men could sense the anger seething beneath the surface.

"Natalia became a suspect; DNA recovered at the scene placed her in Nick's apartment and Nick had a history of abusive behaviour towards her – it was the reason she divorced him." Calleigh sighed. "Jake was convinced Natalia was guilty; except that she wasn't. During the course of a separate investigation Horatio discovered a crucial link to the Townsend case that Jake had overlooked; a link that led to an alternate suspect and exonerated Natalia."

"And Berkeley feels that Caine made him look like a fool by pointing out the oversight; classic deflecting behaviour." Gideon murmured. "What exactly did Berkeley say about Agent Marlowe Detective? We already know what happened in the lockup."

"Berkeley said that because Horatio didn't throw her in a holding cell for making him see stars, she must be sleeping with him."

"And what else?" Gideon prompted.

"He repeated some lame-ass rumour he'd heard back at ATF; that she'd gone one too many rounds with the whack-jobs and that she'd slept with her boss. Personally I think he's full of it; he and Horatio have had a cordial loathing society going since he got here, it's no secret." Frank looked into Gideon's eyes. "But I think you should know that the rumour's spread to the lab; I just overheard Wolfe lecturing Cooper about speculating on office romances. And Berkeley made some noise about involving IAB."

Morgan's cursing blistered the air as he paced the room. Gideon remained silent, his brain working at triple speed processing this latest piece of information.

"He said that he'd tell Stetler?" Calleigh was incredulous. "He actually told you that in so many words?"

"Right down to the last syllable, I had a little talk with him about how that would be a very bad idea; and I think some of it stuck, but with Berkeley you can never tell." Frank said, shaking his head. He looked at Calleigh. "Calleigh, I know you have history with this guy …"

"Don't worry Frank; I have no personal feelings where crap like this is concerned. I can not believe that he'd pull something like this." Calleigh's eyes narrowed in anger. _Oh yeah, she had history with Jake all right; just when she thought he was turning over a new leaf, he'd gave her another reminder why they broke up. Just wait until she got her hands on him. _

She caught sight of the folder, sitting neglected on the table. "You got something for me Frank?"

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot." Frank mentally smacked himself upside the head and passed the folder to Calleigh. "Wolfe asked me to give this to you. It's the DNA results in the Chambers case. Andrews is a match."

"I knew there was a reason I woke up this morning," Calleigh grinned as she opened the file and began to read. Her eyes widened. "Oh my Lord …!"

"What is it?" Gideon asked.

"Andrews is a match all right; not just to Kayla's SAE kit, but to the other four rapes that he was suspected of." Calleigh took a deep breath and read the results a second time, just to be sure. She looked at all three men. "But that's just the start; Natalia ran a search through NCIC and cold cases state-wide…"

"Didn't she come up zip on that way back when?" Frank asked, puzzled.

"Not entirely, there were several possibles, but nothing concrete. But that was before we had a DNA sample that we could run through CODIS." Calleigh replied. "Natalia and Valera just ran another search; they got hits off of three unsolveds in Saint Augustine."

Gideon gestured to Calleigh to hand him the file, she slid it across the table. He opened it and skimmed it quickly. "I remember these cases; they asked us for an assessment earlier this year."

"I remember - they didn't make the cut." Morgan said. "But J.J. should still have the request on file in the system somewhere."

"One would hope. Call Hotch, tell him the scope of this thing just got bigger." Gideon murmured, closing the file. He looked at Frank. "Detective, I think you should know a few things."

* * *

_**BAU Headquarters: Quantico, VA.**_

"Listen up people, we have an unusual situation." Hotchner said, waiting for Prentiss, Reid and Garcia to settle around the conference table; when the noise died away he took a seat and said "J.J., you have the floor."

J.J. nodded; she stood to the right of the large plasma screen that dominated one end of the room, a folder in one hand and a remote in the other. She pressed a button on the remote and the screen came to life, displaying a series of photos.

"Four months ago we received a request for assessment from the Saint Augustine PD, three co-eds beaten and strangled within a two month period." J.J. paused and turned away from the screen. She tried to keep her face impassive and detached, but her voice shook slightly. "The request was declined due insufficient data."

"So what's changed?" Prentiss asked, slouching in her chair.

"I just got off the phone with Morgan," Hotchner leaned forward, folding his hands in front of him. "There's a DNA link to a suspect currently in custody in Miami."

"Somebody's been a busy bee." Garcia said, tapping a pencil with a neon haired troll for an eraser on the tabletop.

"Would you stop that?" Reid made a grab for the pencil and missed getting a smirk from Garcia, an eye-roll from Prentiss and stifled grin from J.J. – Hotchner just glowered. Flushing to the roots of his hair, he asked. "Does this have any connection with the case that Ross has been working on?"

"Yes," Hotchner replied. "The MDPD crime lab confirmed a positive DNA match between the Saint Augustine cases and the suspect in Miami."

"I'm still not seeing the point here," Prentiss said. "It's Marlowe's case, let her handle it."

"Two nights ago the Miami suspect attempted suicide." Hotchner's tone was grave as he allowed that information to sink in. He looked around the room; Garcia looked worried, Reid was frowning in deep thought, J.J. had that look that said she was thinking of how they could spin this to the media. Prentiss looked irritated; she and Marlowe rubbed each other the wrong way for some obscure reason that he'd never been able to pin down. After a brief pause he continued. "He's alive because only because Marlowe kept him from bleeding to death."

"Bet that scored a lot of points with the locals." Prentiss remarked sarcastically. Reid, Garcia and J.J. looked at her like she'd grown a second head. Hotchner raised a disapproving eyebrow at her tone. _He didn't have time for this._

"Uh, Hotch; nobody's heard from Ross in over forty-eight hours. That is so not like her." Garcia said in worried voice, turning her pencil end over end so fast that the troll's head became a neon blur. "I'm gonna go out on a limb here and ask the question that everyone's afraid to; has something happened to her?"

Everybody looked at Hotchner with worried faces.

"Yes Garcia, Marlowe was found unconscious later that night; first reports said it looked like attempted suicide – drug overdose." Hotchner's words fell like stones into the silence. "Apparently she's been an addict for some time."

"Ohmigod!" Garcia gasped.

"Is – is she okay?" Reid's voice jumped an octave.

"She was released from the hospital earlier today. Gideon hasn't had a chance to talk to her yet; but neither has the MDPD." Hotchner paused. "She would have been removed as the primary in any case; she's a material witness to the suspect's attempted suicide …"

"But now the entire profile is in question; along with every case she's ever worked." J.J. finished Hotchner's thought. She looked at him and asked. "What's the plan?"

Hotchner looked at her. "Reach out to the Saint Augustine PD; tell them there's been a development and to coordinate info with Detective Frank Tripp, CSI Calleigh Duquesne and Lieutenant Horatio Caine in Miami. We need everything they've got."

"I'm on it." J.J. was already on the phone as she left the room.

He turned to Reid and Prentiss. "I need both of you to start running a profile on the Saint Augustine cases and link them to the Miami cases; forget there's a suspect already in custody – start from square one. The Florida State's Attorney has been told to expect an insanity plea in the Miami cases; if that happens, and Marlowe's credibility is called into question we need to be ready to move if and when they file on Saint Augustine."

"Different jurisdiction, separate charges equals a whole new ballgame." Prentiss nodded in understanding.

"When do we leave?" Reid asked.

"You don't." Hotchner replied. "Gideon and Morgan will get whatever you need to Garcia and you'll do the work here. If the whole team shows up down there, it's a signal that something's gone wrong with the investigation and the media will be all over it."

"But you're going down there." Prentiss stated.

"It's a delicate situation; I'd be neglecting my responsibility as Unit Chief if I didn't go." Hotchner's tone indicated that the subject was not open for debate. "And I don't trust Gideon to play politics."

"No; really?" Reid said sardonically. "And he tries so hard to be nice."

"Come on Reid," Prentiss rose from her chair. "No trip to Disneyworld for us."

"I've never understood society's fascination with a talking mouse." Reid made a face and the two of them left the room.

"Hotch, I spoke with her that night, it must have been right before it happened." Garcia said in a shaky voice. "She sounded tired, but I never thought …. I guess nobody really knows anybody."

"Don't beat yourself up Garcia." Hotchner said in a calm voice. "We all dropped the ball on this one."


	9. Author's Note

Author's Notes

Author's Notes

Thank you to all those who have reviewed thus far and all those that I have replied to privately.

My sincerest apologies for not updating more often but the considerable demands of a new job and a major attack of the Plot Trolls have derailed my writing process somewhat.

I have not forgotten you, or have any intention of leaving you hanging (I hate it when that happens as much as you do!). Thanks for hanging in there – good stuff to come I promise.

GeishaCat


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